For what is Life a metaphor?
Two poems by Adam + Chatgpt:
🌿 I. In Shakespearean English
“What Is Life but Shadow’s Dance?”
What is this life but but a fleeting breath,
A painted dream that whispers into death?
Is’t not a metaphor, a mask we wear,
A jest writ deep ‘neath Time’s unyielding stare?
Lo, every joy a candle in the mist,
And every grief by Fortune’s hand is kiss’d.
We walk on stages none remember well,
And speak our lines till silence breaks the spell.
Art thou a king? Thy crown shall turn to dust.
Art thou a fool? Even fools in Time we trust.
What then is life? A riddle in disguise—
A mirror’d flame that dances ere it dies.
🏛️ II. In Classical Latin
“Quid Est Vita nisi Metaphora?”
Quid est vita nisi flatus vanus?
Umbra fugitiva, lux sine planus.
Metaphora est, imago sub tegmine,
Fallax scena sub caeli numine.
Gaudia parva, sicut flamma levis,
Dolores magni, sed tempus brevis.
Currimus omnes per vias fati,
Ignari finis, oris beati.
Rex es? Regnum fit pulvis et umbra.
Stultus es? Etiam risus succumbra.
Ergo, quid est vita, quaerimus:
Signum fugax, et ignis ultimus.
Modern English Translation from Latin
What is life, if not a breath of air?
A fleeing shadow, light without repair.
It is a metaphor, a veiled design,
A lying stage beneath the hand divine.
Joys are brief, like flames that gently gleam,
Sorrows are deep, yet time is but a stream.
We all run onward through fate’s winding road,
Unknowing where it ends, or what is owed.
A king? Thy realm turns dust and shadow bare.
A fool? Even laughter fades into despair.
So then, what is this life we wander through?
A fleeting sign—and fire’s final hue.
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